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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28027986">With a Little Help from My Friends</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydependent/pseuds/maydependent'>maydependent</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/pseuds/Wahnsinn'>Wahnsinn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rammstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friendship, M/M, Masturbation, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:55:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28027986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydependent/pseuds/maydependent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahnsinn/pseuds/Wahnsinn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An unfortunate arm injury forces Rammstein to find creative ways to deal with stress while recording new material.</p><p>aka. What may or may not have happened at La Fabrique studios in autumn of 2020.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Paul Landers &amp; Christian Lorenz | Flake, Paul Landers/Christoph Schneider | Doom, Paul Landers/Oliver Riedel, Paul Landers/Till Lindemann, Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>With a Little Help from My Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to be a quick, entertaining, fun one-shot, but it grew a plot and became a monster.</p><p>I want to thank my co-writer/plotter/beta/cheerleader Wahnsinn - you're the best and this fic would have never seen the daylight without your support and effort. *mwah*. And massive thanks goes to Cherriiii for the lovely fanart she made for this fic. I also want to thank my incredibly sore arms for being the inspiration for this story (and for healing quickly).</p><p>And like always - This fic is a product of imagination and we do not own Rammstein (though it would be cool if we did).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
<a href="https://www.deviantart.com/cherry69candy/art/With-a-Little-Help-from-My-Friends-cover-863950733"></a>
</p><p>"A repetitive strain injury."</p><p>Paul watched his five band mates stare at him with varying worried expressions as they processed his words in the library of La Fabrique studios. He lifted up both his arms to show the sturdy black neoprene splints that covered his aching hands from his knuckles to past his mid arm.</p><p>"The good news is that these should heal quite quickly. The bad news is that it requires total rest for a few days. So splints on 24/7, some anti-inflammatory gel, and no use of hands."</p><p>“Yes, better let them rest properly,” Schneider agreed. “I once tried to rush a strained arm, and it ended up being sore for weeks.”</p><p>Paul nodded at the drummer and turned towards Richard.</p><p>"Bloody fucking great timing." Richard jumped up from the arm chair. He had just arrived in France four days earlier, ready as ever to record some new material - which for him basically meant ready to get it all done and over with. 2020 had already caused enough chaos for Rammstein. They had been forced to postpone the second leg of the Stadium Tour, and now their attempt to record some new material seemed to be in jeopardy as well.</p><p>"Do you know what caused it?" Oliver asked. He stepped closer to inspect the two neoprene wraps, the cause of possibly lots of rescheduling and unnecessary stress.</p><p>"Dunno. Too much playing after a long break," Paul shrugged. "And maybe also my new workout routine."</p><p>Paul had seen the change in his own demeanor. He had gotten skinnier and lost muscles over the past few years, months in quarantine not helping either. So a few strength exercises to bulk up could never do any harm - right?</p><p>Till stood in the back of the room, shaking his head in quiet disapproval of the situation. It had taken them weeks to convince him to fly in early so they could spend some time together in France, instead of him just arriving at the studio with his lyrics once the music was ready. Flake sat quietly just observing the whole situation.</p><p>"Does this mean no guitar?" Richard asked, nervously scratching the back of his neck.</p><p>"No guitar," Paul confirmed. "Nothing strenuous for a few days, better just not use them at all. So I'll just give my opinions, and contribute in other ways. Don't worry - we'll be just fine."</p><p>"God help us…" Richard muttered, grabbed his cigarettes, and headed out to the garden.</p><p>-- </p><p>Exactly 5 hours and 17 minutes later things were definitely not fine. Even Oliver, who was usually calm and collected regardless of what kind of shit hit the fan, seemed to be planning on locking Paul up in one of the studio's dark underground storage rooms.</p><p>It was getting late and Paul was full of restless energy - of the negative kind. He’d gotten more and more hyperactive, stressed, and loud, snarkily commenting anything and everything. Unable to fully participate in the creative process, he unintentionally took out his frustration at the other five men and the poor studio crew. It didn’t take long for the pissy menacing energy to get infectious, affecting the whole creative process.</p><p>"Shut the fuck up, Paul," Schneider suddenly belted at Paul from behind the control room deck once the studio crew had surprisingly opted for yet another little break. The outburst finally managed to silence Paul for a few seconds.</p><p>"Thank you, Schneider. For fuck’s sake, Paul, calm down." Till shook his head from behind his notebook at the far end of the room, clearly unable to concentrate on tweaking his lyrics.</p><p>“What?” Paul shot his splinted arms up in the air, dumbfounded at the sudden feedback. ”I’m trying to make this song better - it needs so much work and none of you seem to care. So if I have to be the bearer of bad news - that…” he pushed the button on the control panel to let Richard and Oliver hear his harsh opinion in the recording booth “...that was even worse than the previous five tries.”</p><p>"I don't want this to become another LIFAD catastrophe…“ Schneider muttered at Flake when the keyboardist returned from the kitchen with a steaming mug in his hands, clearly having hid there from the toxic atmosphere.</p><p>“Paul.” Till’s voice was firm and eyes narrow. Storm was rising. “Now is an excellent time for you to sit down and shut up, for your own, but also for the common good. And if you don’t sit down voluntarily, I swear I’ll take one of Richard’s belts and tie you to the chair.” The singer had gotten up and joined the others at the control desk.</p><p>“And where do you think you two are going? Here. Now.” Till rumbled at Richard and Oliver who tried to sneak out from the recording booth towards the back door. “So.”</p><p>“Oh fuck, here we go,” Schneider managed to mouth at Flake before he earned a stern, warning look from their singer.</p><p>“Should you just go back to Berlin and return when you can behave?” Till began a monologue directed at Paul, who was suddenly terribly interested picking the fibres from the velcro in his splint. “You really want to kill this band - or ruin this recording session just because you can’t deal with a minor injury? Get your shit together!” Till shook his head in disbelief.</p><p>“Why are you all suddenly against me?” Paul looked up, pouting.</p><p>“We’re not against you, Paul. You’re against us,” Flake explained, calmly sipping his drink. “I can see you’re stressed out, even if you refuse to admit it. How can we help you not destroy everything?”</p><p>“Yeah - tell us how we can help you cope,” Oliver chimed in. "How do you usually relieve stress?</p><p>Paul sat quiet, deflated, and already ashamed. He was known to be a shithead at times, but at the mature age of 55 he had gained a slightly more relaxed attitude. Or at least he thought he had, up until now.</p><p>"Guitar…" he mumbled.</p><p>"Well you obviously can't do that now," Richard noted. "And what else?"</p><p>"Coffee."</p><p>"Plenty of that available here, but try not to overdose on it," Flake reminded him. "Something else?"</p><p>Paul felt even smaller than usual and sunk  deeper into his chair, hoping that it would swallow him whole.</p><p>"C'mon Paul - what is it?" Schneider leaned closer to Paul, rubbing the smaller man's shoulder for comfort. The room went dead quiet and all Paul could hear was his own heart beating. He’d have to face them sooner or later.</p><p>"Fine. I wank. Lots," he confessed into his own knees. “But now I haven't been able to for a couple of days. And recording is just so damn stressful for me."</p><p>“That’s all?” A relieved chuckle escaped from Till. "Well, that’s not so bad. I think a helping hand can be organized.” He looked at the others who didn’t seem too shocked, except maybe for Schneider who looked a bit pale. This was Rammstein after all, not a church choir, and they already had quite a wild shared history. “If we all lend our helping hands, then you should get over the upcoming few days, right? If that's what it takes to solve this, then so shall it be," Till declared casually, like it was the most normal thing ever.</p><p>“Are you comfortable with that, Paul?” Oliver asked, making sure his handicapped friend was feeling okay with Till's proposition and not actually hyperventilating.</p><p>Paul looked at the others and smiled weakly. “Yeah, I guess. I think it would help. One for all and all for one.”</p><p>Richard and Oliver snorted at the almost witty response, then looked around at Schneider who was visibly uncomfortable. “Schneider?”</p><p>"Ok, whatever. But on one condition though," Schneider agreed. "I get to go first. I want to be done with it."</p><p>The five men looked at each other. No one seemed to disagree.</p><p>"Should we…" Schneider tried to look bold and confident, but he was blushing, and his hands were almost shaking, "...right now?"</p><p>"Yes, please!" Till, Richard, Flake, and Oliver said in unison.</p><p>-- </p><p>Twenty minutes later, Schneider closed the door to Paul’s bedroom just upstairs from the studio. Now that the first shock had worn off, Paul felt more confident and even slightly excited at the sudden turn of events. He did feel a bit sorry for his poor friend who was still visibly nervous, like a fish out of water.</p><p>“Hey, I'm sorry for being a little shit earlier.” Paul sat down on the edge of his bed and looked at Schneider who was nervously fumbling with the laptop he brought along. “Come here, I can see you're nervous, you need to relax first.” Paul patted at the bed next to him. “Let's chat.”</p><p>“I just didn’t have time to plan this at all,” Schneider said sheepishly as he sat down next to Paul, also secretly relieved that he was not allowed to think too much of this beforehand.</p><p>"Look, we don't have to do this now. See, I'm already a bit relaxed," Paul tried to convince both himself and Schneider.</p><p>"No, I'm not going to back down, just think of the endless teasing I would get from the others. I know I have the guts, somewhere…" Schneider's voice drifted away and he busied himself picking his cuticles before continuing. "I guess it's the feeling of just being on foreign territory that's slightly weird."</p><p>"It's not like you've never touched another guy's dick before."</p><p>"Paul! I was young, foolish, and very drunk…" Schneider facepalmed at the memory. "Though apparently I wasn't drunk enough, because I still remember how clumsy I was and how awkward I felt afterwards."</p><p>"Well, you've got a great opportunity now to show yourself what you're capable of. You do know how to wank, right?” Paul questioned. “For God’s sake, I really do hope you wank.”</p><p>“Yeah, of course I do, at times. But I spent the entire spring and summer at home, so I kind of didn’t need to.”</p><p>“I think your wife let the whole world know that with her posts on Instagram,” Paul grinned. “And I have no idea why you even think you're shy, mister ‘posting-a-pretty-obvious-nude’ to your 170 000 or so followers.”</p><p>“Hey, it wasn’t me who posted…” Schneider blushed slightly remembering the social media event of the summer, but was clearly more relaxed already.</p><p>“I don’t believe for a second that you don’t approve all the posts,” Paul said dryly.</p><p>Schneider sighed. “Fine,” he admitted. “But I really didn’t think that people would…” He looked down at his feet.</p><p>“God, you’re so naive sometimes!” Paul chuckled, poking the drummer’s arm. “Anyway, it’s not like I haven’t seen it before, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. Come on. It’s me. You've seen me. And I’ve even seen you with…”</p><p>“Ok, ok, enough,” Schneider interrupted, not willing to relive those moments. “Let’s get it over with. So how about you undress while I find some porn, so you can get in the mood. What do you like to watch?”</p><p>Paul stood up and started clumsily undoing his pants with his splinted hands. “How about you find something that you like watching? I’m sure that will be good. Besides, I’m curious about what you get off on.”</p><p>“I - eh - you might not like the same as me. How about I find you some girls with big tits or something.” Schneider opened a porn site and started typing into the search field.</p><p>Paul tried to snatch the laptop, but he was too slow. “Damn Schneider, you even have an account!” he giggled. “C'mon, show me your favourites!”</p><p>Schneider turned away from Paul guarding the laptop. "No."</p><p>"Please?" Paul pleaded as he kicked his pants off and to the floor, and climbed onto the bed.</p><p>Schneider peeked over his shoulder to see the half naked guitarist starfished on the bed against a pile of pillows, looking straight at him.</p><p>"Or I could just admire your strong arms and shoulders," Paul smirked jokingly, knowing exactly which strings to pull. "They're a fine sight, could be enough of a visual to get me off."</p><p>Schneider shook his head in disbelief as he quickly considered the option of him becoming material in Paul's mental wank bank. "Fine, I'll show you - just promise that you won’t tease me about it, and that it stays between us."</p><p>"Of course," Paul promised, closed his eyes, and listened to Schneider typing. For sure he was excited, but increasingly nervous, too. <em>'What if I can't get it hard - or finish.'</em> He tried to steer his thoughts away from his fears and towards things that usually turned him on.</p><p>No, he was not shy of nudity and didn't lack guts to do daring things. He had enjoyed kissing Richard on stage regularly, and getting naked and close to Flake back in the day. He'd witnessed the others have sex or a wank too many times in their wild younger years. He just had never been wanked off by another guy, not to mention one of his oldest friends. Even if this was just a kind gesture to help him cope with stress, it was also crossing a new border. And once that border was crossed, he could never go back.</p><p>"Uhm, Paul - where do you keep your lube?" Schneider interrupted his pondering.</p><p>"Top drawer." Paul blindly pointed in the general direction of the bedside desk with his splinted arm.</p><p>Schneider opened the drawer and pulled out a very colourful bottle. “You have watermelon flavoured lube?!” he spluttered, before bursting out in laughter.</p><p>“...I like watermelon,” Paul muttered, trying to look less embarrassed than he actually was. He felt the mattress dip as Schneider moved closer and put down the laptop next to Paul's thighs.</p><p>“So.” Schneider began.</p><p>“So.” Paul parroted back.</p><p>“If I put the laptop here next to you and press play - and we go from there?” Schneider could sense the switch in Paul’s mood - the previous cocky playfulness had been replaced with nervous anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”</p><p>“Yes.” Paul hissed as Schneider’s warm fingertips gently started to caress his stomach. “You won’t tolerate me or the bitching from the others tomorrow if we back out now.”</p><p>"So you lied earlier about being relaxed?"</p><p>"Yes," Paul admitted. "Just do it."</p><p>Schneider nodded and pressed play. Two naked bodies appeared on the screen, kissing, caressing each other, moaning softly. Paul’s eyes opened wide. “You wank to gay porn?!” he blurted out.</p><p>“Remember, you promised no teasing.” Schneider slapped Paul’s stomach lightly. “It just felt weird watching regular porn after I got married and had kids.”</p><p><em>And watching two guys fuck doesn’t?</em> Paul wanted to ask, but he managed to hold his tongue. “Whatever floats your boat,” he shrugged.</p><p>Schneider resumed stroking Paul’s abs in small circles, inching closer and closer to his pubic hair, teasing him, but also gathering courage at the same time. The increasingly louder moans from the laptop filled the quiet room, and the closer Schneider’s fingers got to his crotch, the more blood rushed towards Paul’s nether regions. Paul realized that at least his first fear had been erased rather quickly.</p><p>Paul’s eyes darted back to the screen. A slim blonde guy had already kneeled between a bulkier man’s legs and was sucking him out with a good appetite, while the bulky man was talking dirty to him in German.</p><p>Paul was definitely hard now, almost achingly so. His cock was even bigger than that of the guy getting sucked off, and Schneider desperately tried not to focus on it. Instead, he stared blankly at the screen, poured a generous amount of lube in his palm, and then just went for it.</p><p>Paul jerked at the touch, almost kicking the laptop. Schneider's firm grip felt amazing as he started stroking in a lazy rhythm. The drummer’s hand was strong, yet so gentle around him. Paul wasn’t sure whether it would be appropriate to moan, but then Schneider picked up his speed, and an involuntary groan echoed over the oily slapping noises from the laptop speakers.</p><p>Soon Paul was panting heavily and could no longer concentrate on the porn. Instead his gaze shifted and focused on his friend, who was crouched over the laptop, biting his lip, his fist pumping Paul’s length like a metronome. It was ridiculously sexy.</p><p>Schneider looked as focused as he did on stage, and his slim but muscular arm was moving as smoothly as it did when he was drumming. Paul felt hypnotised. He was unable to take his eyes off his friend who kept stroking him first faster and then slowly again. It felt so good that if it wasn’t for the intense pleasure, Paul would probably have felt strange about getting such a great handjob from one of his oldest friends.</p><p>The tingly pressure was welling up inside Paul, creeping from every corner of his body towards his belly at an accelerating pace. Just one more look at the hand at his own groin, and electricity shot through Paul’s body accompanied by a loud incoherent sound. His body began clenching, his head fell back, and he spurted long, white ropes over Schneider’s fingers, again and again, until he sunk down into the pillows, totally exhausted, his cock still pulsating lazily against his bandmate’s palm.</p><p>Time slowed down and the room fell dead quiet except for the moaning from the porn, which now felt dirty in a slightly disturbing way. Schneider looked at his hand, warm white strings reminding him of what had just happened. He was flustered and a bit pale.</p><p>"Thanks. That was fantastic," Paul finally managed when his mind and soul had landed back on earth after orbiting the moon a few times.</p><p>Schneider was ominously still and quiet.</p><p>Paul gently poked his friend with his hand. "Hey, you ok?"</p><p>“I - yeah, I guess.” Schneider used his left hand to close his laptop to make the sounds stop before looking around for a way to clean himself.</p><p>“Second drawer,” Paul said, gesturing towards the bedside table, watching as his friend clumsily grabbed some tissues.</p><p>“You look a little flustered,” he remarked. “Do you want me to - um - help you out?”</p><p>Schneider looked at him, incredulously, while wiping Paul off his hand.</p><p>“It’s just my hands that aren’t working, you know. One for all and all for one, and all that,” Paul grinned jokingly.</p><p>Quickly standing up, Schneider grabbed his laptop and bolted for the door. “I - I’m tired, good night,” he stuttered, his face burning red.</p><p>“Well, you know where to find me if you need something. Good night, and thanks, Schneider,” Paul responded as the drummer closed the door behind him.</p><p>--</p><p>Paul felt well rested and calm when he joined Till, Flake, and Richard for breakfast next morning on the patio. The autumn morning was pleasantly warm, almost summer-like for being late September.</p><p>"Well, good morning, Mr. Sunshine," Richard crooned, grinning widely at the sight of his fellow guitar player. "How was your night, Paulchen?"</p><p>Till and Flake laid their eyes on Paul and started stirring their mugs, clinking the spoons unnaturally loudly, not so subtly hinting that some tea needed to be spilled.</p><p>Paul just smirked as he sat down. "A real lady doesn't kiss and tell. But I slept all right, I guess."</p><p>He put a few watermelon slices, two croissants, and some cheese on his plate, and reached for the coffee pot. From the corner of his eyes he could see three pairs of eyes on him, silently pressuring, demanding a report.</p><p>Paul bit into the croissant and smiled, small, golden crumbles sticking onto his lips. "Not knäckebrot, but it’ll have to do,” he mused. “So what's the plan for today, are we moving on, or do you still wish to work on that bridge from last night?"</p><p>Till was still stirring his cup. "Love, you're changing the subject," he politely pointed out.</p><p>"I'm not aware we had a subject," Paul shrugged. This wasn't his first rodeo, and he was determined not to budge on his decision of keeping certain details all to himself.</p><p>Richard lit a cigarette, leaned back on his chair, and tossed the lighter on the table. "Paul, Paul, Paul…" he shook his head in amusement and blew a long, lingering strand of smoke from the corner of his mouth. "Haven't you learned anything over the years? Your business..." Richard air quoted, "...is band business."</p><p>Paul poured a generous amount of milk into his coffee, sipped it, and looked at his fellow guitarist. "I think we already agreed on what should happen, so you already know."</p><p>"Details, we need details." Richard was clearly enjoying his position immensely, for once it wasn't him who was getting grilled over the ridiculous amounts of one night stands he had gone through during his single years.</p><p>Oliver jogged to the table and sat down between Till and Richard. "Morning. What did I miss? Where's Schneider?"</p><p>"We're still working on it, looks like this one is a tougher nut to crack," Flake remarked dryly.</p><p>"Oh, Schneider's not had breakfast yet? He's usually the first one to get up," Paul said and bit into a chunky slice of watermelon.</p><p>“Perhaps <i>someone</i> knows of a reason why he might be late.” Oliver stated, looking straight at Paul. “Perhaps <i>someone</i> wore him out last night.”</p><p>Paul threw his hands up in disbelief. “Come on, Olli! It was just a handjob!”</p><p>That seemed to shut everyone up. Four pairs of eyes were staring expectantly at Paul, who realised the cat was out of the bag - or at least a big part of the cat.</p><p>“A handjob?” Richard repeated, a very smug grin on his face.</p><p>"Since when has the concept of a handjob been difficult for <i>you</i> to understand, Reesh? We all know you love them even more than blowjobs, since you don’t seem to hold anything back in your interviews," Paul frowned.</p><p>Richard sat back in his chair, looking slightly offended, mumbling something incomprehensible apart from the word ‘handjob’.</p><p>Paul glared at the others. "If you really need to know, it was fantastic, one of the better ones I've received - so go figure. It's not like I'm going to reveal his secrets to you vultures. He set the bar nice and high."</p><p>Till grinned, clearly amused at the revelation, Oliver nervously laughed out loud, and Flake just shook his head. Richard gasped, let his jaw drop, feigning shock.</p><p>Paul was part relieved, part scared when he saw the last missing member rounding the corner and slowly walking towards the patio. It had most likely required Schneider a lengthy self-pep-talk to gain enough confidence to face the inquisition.</p><p>"Well done, Schneider!" Richard shouted to gain the drummer's attention, clapping his hands animatedly as the drummer got closer.</p><p>"For fuck’s sake, try to be gentle," Paul glared at the others, especially Richard. "Just remember, the more info you want now, the more I will need to share later about you."</p><p>Without saying a word, Schneider pulled out a chair and sat down, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was quiet, but had a barely noticeable smirk on his shaved cheeks, like the cat that got the cream.</p><p>“Watermelon?” Till asked, offering him the plate of fruit.</p><p>Schneider looked incredulously at the watermelon, then at Paul, who shrugged and mouthed a silent <em>I didn’t mention that!</em> while Till looked confusedly at them both.</p><p>“No thanks. I don’t feel like <i>watermelon</i> today,” Schneider said, grabbing a croissant.</p><p>Paul just smiled innocently.</p><p>-- </p><p>As the day passed, they managed to make significant progress during recording. Even the tricky and stress inducing bridge from the previous night seemed to click somehow. Everyone was in a good mood, and Paul tried his best to be positive and constructive in his comments. But the longer into the afternoon they got, the more he began to withdraw himself from the others. Not even Schneider, who over yet another coffee in the studio kitchen suddenly confessed to indulging himself in a private porn jack-off marathon the night before, managed to lift Paul's spirits. His fingers itched too much to grab his Les Paul and join Richard, to show what he wanted from his playing instead of just trying to explain with words.</p><p>"Doctor's orders, Paul. Put the guitar down now," Oliver reminded him for the third time over the past hour.</p><p>Instead of going full on snarky on the bass player, Paul lifted his splinted arms up in defeat. He retreated in the dimly lit back corner of the room where Till was relaxing alone in a leather armchair with a book and a glass of wine.</p><p>Leather creaked as Paul slouched on the corner of the sofa, then leaned against his legs and let his head hang down. He breathed slowly in and out, trying to force his wound-up mind to calm down before he could no longer control the frustration building up inside him.</p><p>Paul felt the couch dip and a large hand began to rub his back back and forth.</p><p>"Feeling rough again?"</p><p>"Yeah," Paul sighed and started picking at the velcro strap wrapped around his wrist. No matter how good they were for the healing, they also were a constant reminder of his condition and not helping his mood.</p><p>"I was so proud of you earlier. You were so calm, collected, and constructive, even towards Richard."</p><p>"Now I really just want to punch that pretty face of his." Paul looked up at Till with furrowed brows and pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting a headache that had started to thrum between his eyes.</p><p>Till seemed to consider the thought for a while. "Not worth it, though I can see the entertainment potential."</p><p>Paul knew it was never a great idea to get in a physical fight with Richard, they wrestled in such different weight classes. He was stronger with words, but had tried to hold his tongue not to stir up any unnecessary drama.</p><p>"Maybe I should get some fresh air and room for my thoughts," Paul declared. He started to get up, but Till's hand pushed him back down.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Paul looked from Till to the heavy hand on his chest and back. His eyes widened in bewilderment as Till mimed him to stay quiet. Then the vocalist’s free hand sneaked towards the waist of Paul's track pants, starting to tug them down.</p><p>"Till!" Paul hissed between his teeth. His eyes darted from Oliver, Flake, and Schneider huddled over a laptop by the control desk to Richard still plucking his guitar behind the glass wall at the other end of the room.</p><p>"Shhh." The singer just smiled back mischievously and pushed Paul into a better position.</p><p>Paul quietly tried to fight back, but it was useless. His pants and boxers were already down and he was being manhandled in the rough manner that he'd witnessed so many times on stage. But instead of Flake, it was now him on the receiving end. And that stirred something deep inside Paul.</p><p>Besides, this was not stage Till. This was still, despite the sudden boldness, the real Till - a gentleman whose eyes connected with Paul's, asking for permission after the more playful start. He looked so excited, earnest, slightly shy, and all Paul could do was to bite his lip and nod.</p><p>Till's hand was heavy and firm. For a while he just sat quietly, holding Paul's length while looking at the other four who were still blissfully unaware of what was happening behind their backs. Paul fought hard not to breathe too heavily. He reached for a decorative pillow and pulled it in his lap to block the view towards his bandmates, clenching his hands and watching his erection twitch as it grew bigger and bigger inside Till's grip.</p><p>After what felt like an eternity, Till started to pump his hand and made Paul almost throw caution to the wind and release the guttural groan he had been holding in.</p><p>“Fuck you and your exhibition kink,” he husked instead.</p><p>“Looks like you’re enjoying it, too,” Till teased with a low voice.</p><p>“It, it, yeah...” Paul began, but was unable to finish, squinting his eyes at the rough dry friction that was just starting to get on the uncomfortable side of pleasure. His eyes had turned hazy, and he grimaced at the sight of his angry red dick getting pumped more forcefully.</p><p>“Does it burn too much?”</p><p>“Lube,” Paul hissed.</p><p>Before he could react, Till leaned down, teasingly licking once along the shaft before swallowing Paul all the way, swirling his tongue as he went down. Paul saw stars. He cursed in his mind, his hands flew into Till’s hair in an attempt to pull him off, but as Till started humming with a low, vibrating voice, all Paul could do was to push the obscene mouth back down.</p><p>Till hollowed his cheeks as he picked up a steady rhythm, head bobbing up and down in the most pornographic way. Engulfed in the wet heat, and with a brain in total shut down mode, Paul just let his head lull back, his splinted hands pumping up and down, hanging onto Till’s ponytail like it was his last lifeline.</p><p>The blood was rushing in Paul’s ears and his vision blurred. As he neared the climax, his hands started reflexively clawing at Till’s neck and scalp, leaving angry red marks, which only encouraged Till to pick it up a notch and scrape his teeth against Paul’s shaft.</p><p>“Oh shit,” Paul moaned loudly as he started clumsily thrust into the delicious mouth, no longer giving a fuck who could maybe see or hear it.</p><p>The world could have ended and Paul wouldn’t have noticed. He was flying and sinking at the same time, nerve endings on fire, blindly pounding his hips until a backdraft-like explosion shattered him into pieces.</p><p>When Paul finally regained his consciousness and gathered enough willpower to open his eyes, he saw Till sitting in the armchair, one hand holding the worn out paperback and the other cradling the almost empty glass of wine. Next, his eyes darted towards the control desk, which was now deserted. Finally, he reached down to find a black hoodie covering his private parts, probably Richard's that had been left on the sofa earlier.</p><p>"Feeling better?"</p><p>Paul's eyes snapped back to Till. "How long have I been out?"</p><p>"Five minutes maybe, not too long. You looked like you needed a nap. I think the others headed out for a break."</p><p>Paul groaned and hid his eyes with the neoprene-covered arm as he remembered the possible audience. He couldn't believe what a weird twist their recording session had taken. "How much do you think they saw?"</p><p>“I think they heard more than saw,” Till chuckled.</p><p>Paul blushed. “Shit,” he mumbled. “It was just - you were just…”</p><p>Till put his book down and leaned forward. "Don't be ashamed, you really think they'd be shocked at anything anymore?"</p><p>"No, but still - it was kind of personal."</p><p>"I enjoyed it, you seemed to enjoy it…"</p><p>"Yes." Paul peeked at Till from under the splint.</p><p>“So what’s the problem? We did it quick!” Till smirked, ducking when Paul grabbed a pillow and threw it at his face.</p><p>“Don’t you Pussy me, you dork!” he said, trying to sound all serious, but he totally failed.</p><p>-- </p><p>Paul was uneasy when he walked down the stairs later the same evening. They had agreed on a dinner together at seven, and since it would only be the six of them, he knew very well what would be the first subject of discussion. He weaved through the chain of rooms in the recording studio’s bottom floor. They were all full of books, old audiotapes, and a plethora of instruments. After a quick man-up, he opened the door to the cellar-like dining room.</p><p>"And there he <em>comes</em>…" Richard exclaimed as Paul entered the room. Everyone else was already seated around the table and turned to look at Paul.</p><p>"He wouldn’t miss out on the <em>orgasmic</em> food we get here," Oliver said wryly.</p><p>Paul glared at smug looking Till across the table as he sat down.</p><p>"No, we all know dinner is Paul’s <em>climax</em> of the day," Schneider snorted and became the first to lose his poker face.</p><p>As quickly as Paul had sat down, he lifted his hands up as to surrender, and bounced back up in protest to leave. Richard's hand pulled him back down. "Sit, Paulchen."</p><p>“Oh fuck off, you fucking voyeurs,” Paul spat out, but could not hold back his smile. “Besides, I’m the innocent victim here. Why don’t you go after Till - he’s the one who attacked me,” Paul added, feigning innocence while digging into the delicious looking French bread and reaching for the closest wine bottle.</p><p>“Ever heard of discretion?” Flake asked.</p><p>“Yes, Till, ever heard of discretion?” Paul mumbled, his mouth full of bread.</p><p>“At least this time we don’t really need to interrogate - I think we all already know more than we wish to,” Oliver considered, stretching his long legs at the end of the table. “A little <i>heads</i> up would have been nice though.”</p><p>“Yes, it was unfortunately a bit hard to miss.” Richard motioned towards the wine bottle. “Pass me the wine Olli, I think I need to bleach my brain with it.”</p><p>“Says the one who practically had to be dragged out,” Schneider shot back, making Paul almost inhale his bread, resulting in a cough fit.</p><p>“Oh fuck you, Schneider!”</p><p>“No thanks, I have my standards, Reesh.”</p><p>A waitress interrupted the friendly bickering. She was carrying a tray of food that she laid on the table before retreating back to the kitchen. Everyone helped themselves to the delicious French dishes, and started eating.</p><p>Paul, happy to finally get a little break from the onslaught of the others, emptied his wine glass and poured another one in hope of regaining normal breathing again.</p><p>“I think you should all be grateful, and maybe even jealous. Not everyone gets to experience what Paul did today,” Till said, casually stabbing a sausage with his fork. Looking straight at Richard, he gently slid the sausage into his mouth.</p><p>Richard’s eyes turned big, but he was unable to look away and kept staring at Till with a facial expression that seemed like a mixture of fascination and disgust.</p><p>“TILL LINDEMANN!” Flake scolded. “We are having dinner here!”</p><p>“This is Rammstein, not Lindemann,” Schneider said. “Which reminds me, if you ever fuck someone under my drums again, I swear I’ll stab you with a drumstick.”</p><p>Till bit off the sausage and started chewing slowly, still keeping eye contact with Richard, who sat with his mouth half open, just staring. Finally, the man managed to collect himself.</p><p>“You know what, Till? I bet that I will be able to give Paul a better orgasm than you did.”</p><p>Everyone stopped chewing to stare at Richard. Flake almost violently rolled his eyes, Oliver seemed quite amused, Schneider facepalmed, and Paul blushed to the point where his facial colour resembled that of the Syrah in his glass.</p><p>Till, however, seemed totally unaffected by Richard’s challenge. He finished chewing the piece of sausage, then smiled at the lead guitarist. “Great! I’m sure Paul will enjoy it!” he said, and took another bite of his food.</p><p>The response infuriated Richard. “Verdammt, Till…” he started, but Oliver put his hand on Richard’s shoulder, gently urging him to calm down.</p><p>“It’s not a competition,” the bassist chuckled.</p><p>“It could be,” Till said pensively, smiling at Richard again. “Since you are so confident that you will please Paul better than I could, how about we make a little bet?”</p><p>“What the fuck, guys!” Paul said incredulously, staring angrily at Till, then at Richard, then back at Till. “This is not a joke!”</p><p>“...it is kind of amusing,” Oliver said.</p><p>“Not you too!” Paul lifted his splinted arms in frustration.</p><p>The bassist shrugged. “I want in. Might as well have some fun with this.”</p><p>“There we go,” Till replied, stabbing another sausage. “Flake?”</p><p>“You keep me out of this!” the keyboardist hissed.</p><p>“All right, all right,” Till said. “Schneider, how about you? I’m sure Paul would be willing to let you have another go if you want in!”</p><p>The drummer furiously shook his head. “Thanks, I’m good, you guys have a ball. Or, have Paul’s balls, I guess.”</p><p>“And I don’t have a say in this?” Paul looked utterly confused, face still crimson red.</p><p>“No!” Till, Richard, and Oliver said in unison.</p><p>“So what are the conditions?” Richard asked.</p><p>“AFTER DINNER, PLEASE,” Flake grunted. The three men seemed slightly displeased, but let the topic lie while they finished their meal.</p><p>-- </p><p>To Paul's great relief the subject was dropped for the rest of the evening and even the following day - at least to his knowledge. But what really stuck out, was Richard's behavior. Rammstein's currently only able-handed guitarist was unnaturally empathetic, kind, patient, almost sugary, even towards his usual antagonist, Paul.</p><p>
  <em>'Is Reesh on happy pills? He's scaring the shit out of me.'</em>
</p><p>Paul laughed out loud as he read Schneider's message from his phone screen. He had just gotten back to his room after they'd called it quits for the day. The room was quiet apart from a movie quietly buzzing out French words from the mouths of American actors. Paul had managed to secure a full plate of dinner leftovers from the kitchen, and happily started snacking on the goodies while replying to Schneider. At least eating was something he could still enjoy.</p><p><em>'So I wasn't the only one who noticed.’</em> Paul typed and stopped to think. <em>‘Is there a plan or an agreement that involves me that I should be aware of?'</em></p><p>He tossed his phone on the bed and continued eating the hearty meat and vegetable stew. It was delicious. While home cooked meals were good and well, he had missed restaurant food and eating out during the long quarantine months. The chef at La Fabrique was excellent, and he made sure to take advantage of that to the fullest.</p><p>About a minute later his phone buzzed again.</p><p>
  <em>'Dunno. Saw Olli get in a car. Till is gone too. And Reesh was looking for something in the library cabinets.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'I'm getting anxious.'</em>
</p><p>Schneider was almost too fast with his reply. <em>'Ask R for help?'</em></p><p><em>'Haha.'</em> Paul typed. <em>'How about no?'</em></p><p>-- </p><p>It was already past midnight. Paul had eaten, gone for a walk with his camera, showered, finished reading his book, watched news from Deutsche Welle, and sat alone in the dark studio listening through stuff they'd recorded so far. Back in his room, he was restless, alert, and unable to lay down motionless for long enough to fall asleep. His head was buzzing with concerns about the new songs, even though he'd been quite happy with them earlier.</p><p>Paul rolled over on the bed and reached for his phone to message Richard, whose internal clock was known for being stuck a few time zones west of the others, regardless of their actual location.</p><p>
  <em>'Still up? Can't sleep. Got melatonin?'</em>
</p><p>He closed his eyes, breathed in and out, in and out, with the phone in his right hand.</p><p>Soon his phone pinged. <em>'Come over'</em></p><p>Paul exited his room and tiptoed barefoot past Flake’s and Schneider’s rooms. Richard’s door was left slightly ajar and Paul heard soft guitar tunes drifting out into the hallway. He gently pushed the door open until he was able to slip inside.</p><p>Richard was sitting on his bed, dressed in shorts and a singlet, one foot hanging off the side, the other tucked under his knee. He was biting his lip and concentratedly plucking his guitar. An abundance of candles of all sizes and shapes were spread around all surfaces, casting soft, amber light on his statuesque body. Paul scanned the room, savouring the sight before leaning back against the door to close it. The sound of the door clicking shut alerted Richard. His eyes darted up to Paul, but he still didn’t break the wistful melody.</p><p>Paul moved to stand in front of his fellow guitarist. “Don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” he smiled.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s something new.” Richard’s fingers danced smoothly on the guitar’s neck. Even though Paul’s hands had itched to get back into playing, the moment was so enthralling that he didn’t even think about wanting to play himself.</p><p>“Emigrate?” Paul questioned, pushing his hands into his shorts pockets.</p><p>“Maybe.” Richard replied. “Don’t think it sounds like Rammstein.”</p><p>Paul nodded. He let his eyes wander around the softly lit room, taking in his surroundings once more. “Very cozy atmosphere you have.” The word intimate hung on his lips. He refrained from saying it.</p><p>Richard kept his eyes fixed on Paul and strummed the last chords of the song. A long, but comfortable silence ensued.</p><p>“Can I ask you something?”</p><p>“Sure.” Paul broke the prolonged eye contact briefly and shuffled his feet on the soft rug.</p><p>“Why did you start working out so vigorously all of a sudden?”</p><p>Paul grimaced a bit at the question. He narrowed his eyes to slits and let his eyes track the ceiling trims as he searched for the right reply.</p><p>“Not all of us have such perfect beefy bodies,” he said quietly, lowering his gaze to meet Richard’s eyes again. “I’m aging, which makes me lose my muscle mass easier. I guess it’s making me unsure of myself on some level. And I don’t want to look like a wiry old relic of a man once this Covid's over.”</p><p>“I think aging makes people look more interesting - their life stories evident in their faces and bodies.”</p><p>“That’s very poetic, but a bit thick from you, Reesh,” Paul snickered. “The older you get, the more time you spend at the gym pumping muscles, in the bathroom dying your hair, or in front of the mirror trying to cover your little wrinkles with make-up.”</p><p>“Touché,” Richard admitted. “But I think aging suits you. Come, let me show you.”</p><p>Richard placed the guitar on the bed and got up, grabbed Paul’s forearm as he walked past, pulling his reluctant friend along. They rounded the bed and stopped in front of the large full body mirror that covered the space between the bathroom door and an old wooden cabinet. Richard guided Paul to stand right in the middle and then moved behind the smaller man.</p><p>“Before we start,” Richard began, assessing the sight in front of him. “No offense, but I had no idea that you still had this hideous outfit?”</p><p>Paul gasped in mock offense, but could not really argue that the bright orange shorts and the worn out, baggy Hawaii shirt with orange and yellow beach pattern were nothing else than a hideous dad look.</p><p>“But I really like the colour,” he opposed meekly. “And it brings me good memories.”</p><p>Paul was known to wear his favorite clothes until they literally fell off him or vanished while in the washing machine. And now that he actually had to pay attention to his look, he had to agree that the baggy, ill fitting, though comfy clothes made him look less fresh than he wished.</p><p>“Maybe this should come off, because it’s seeking too much attention.”</p><p>Richard rounded Paul and deftly unbuttoned the shirt, letting it slide off the shoulders, past the splints and onto the floor. Then he returned to his earlier spot. Paul shivered slightly at the cool air on his skin.</p><p>“See, a lot better already.” Richard smiled at Paul through the mirror, his chest so close to Paul’s back that it radiated heat, but not quite touching. The penetrating gaze measured Paul's body in great detail, skimming over the arms, chest, and abdomen, counting his freckles and circling old scars.</p><p>Paul felt a bit uneasy under the detailed scrutiny. He wanted to say something witty or funny to lighten the mood in the weird laden bubble that they were caught in, but his head felt too foggy.</p><p>Richard's eyes, now narrowed, darker, and even hungry, returned to stare at Paul's.</p><p>"You're beautiful," Richard murmured, so close to Paul’s ear that Paul could feel his hot breath tickling his skin.</p><p>"Your shoulders are so well defined, just the right width, and make you look very masculine." Richard continued, whispering with a low voice. Paul exhaled a shaky breath.</p><p>"Your arms..." Richard scraped his fingernails in an achingly slow motion from Paul's collarbones all the way down to the splints and then back up again. It made Paul shiver almost uncontrollably. He felt lightheaded as the floodgates opened and blood rushed towards his crotch. "...are sinewy and strong."</p><p>As the fingers slid to circle Paul's chest and stomach, he threw away his inhibition, crashed his body backwards, shoulders colliding against Richard's chest. He let his eyes drift close and his head fall back.</p><p>"I love how your chest is so chiseled and so firm and toned.” Richard continued the praise in the same bold, calm, and even a bit dominant manner, scraping the upside down V-shaped gap between Paul’s pecs and then sliding lower and lower.</p><p>"Your stomach is something that I've always envied, it’s lean and flat - and look at this slim waist, how lovely it is. Many guys half your age would pay anything to have abs like this." Richard practically crooned, yesterday's stubble scraping gently against the side of Paul's neck. Body tightly caged between the strong arms that were exploring his body, Paul's frenzied mind was playing the only thought left in his head in a constant loop.</p><p>"Reesh, please," he almost whined, muscles hot and twitchy from his arousal.</p><p>"Please what?"</p><p>"I need your hand."</p><p>Paul managed to hook his thumbs in his waistband and shoved both shorts and underwear far enough down to reveal his aching erection.</p><p>"Just please," he breathed.</p><p>Richard stilled and swallowed audibly. He snaked his left arm around Paul's lower ribs in support, then inched his right hand lower along the fine trail of hair. Paul flinched at the first touch, but quickly sought contact with the body behind him.</p><p>Richard's fingers gently explored the outlines of Paul’s shaft, eventually reaching lower to brush over and around the balls. His fingertips curiously swiped across the slit and the sensitive nerve endings underneath, as to familiarize himself with the instrument. He caressed the foreskin before he started stroking in long, lazy swipes, applying just the right amount of pressure. As he did, he pulled Paul’s body even closer. Paul obliged with a satisfied sigh.</p><p>Agile, manicured fingers and soft skin made the friction feel amazing. Varying between rhythmic staccatos and smooth legatos, Richard played the most beautiful patterns and songs that seemed to have no end.</p><p>It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours, Paul wouldn't have known. Instead he was totally wrapped in the satisfying, tingly feeling that was building up inside him. His senses were engulfed in the feeling of the broad, warm chest pressing against his back, the strong arm caging him in, the familiar sweet, musky scent with a hint of cigarette smoke - and the skilled hand doing impossible things to him. Paul grunted and curled his toes. With tiny thrusts he started to cautiously fuck into Richard's hand.</p><p>"Paul, open your eyes," Richard encouraged, his breathing more ragged against Paul's jaw as his hand picked up speed. "I want you to see your beautiful body come undone."</p><p>Paul forced his eyes open. The sight of their alluring bodies pressed against each other, bathing in the amber candlelight while racing towards the finish line, was absurdly arousing and erotic. He bit his lip and his hooded eyes locked with Richard's through the mirror. The blue eyes looked stormy and dangerous.</p><p>"Oh oh oh," Paul moaned, as the hand on his chest sneaked higher and pinched his sensitive nipple. Not sure if he could last much longer, he started snapping his hips, boldly fucking into the fist.</p><p>Paul felt Richard's pumping turn fervent, incoherent, and animalistic. Through his hazy state he could feel Richard also throw all caution to the wind and rock and grind his hips against Paul's ass to the erratic rhythm of his hand. And that was all it took.</p><p>The explosion was so powerful and raw that it split Paul into pieces, his mind blacking out. Deliriously happy and sated, he slumped boneless against Richard's arms in an attempt to regain normal breathing and any control of his muscles. Paul felt hot, ragged, panting breaths against the nape of his neck.</p><p>They stood like that for a while, eyes avoiding the mirror and the white stains of cum that painted the dark wooden floor. The thrill and lust that had just run wild and free in their veins turned into a slightly uncomfortable state of post orgasm regret.</p><p>"Hey," Richard swallowed, arduously hoisting Paul higher. "My leg's cramping, and you're getting heavy. Can you stand?"</p><p>Paul ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his face, and put his weight back on his own two feet. "Yeah, sorry," he muttered shyly as Richard stepped back. He reached down to wiggle his underwear and shorts back up again.</p><p>When he turned around, he saw Richard spread on the bed, his eyes closed, tiny pearls of sweat glistening on his shoulders and forehead. Paul stepped closer to the legs hanging off the side of the bed and nudged at them with his knee.</p><p>"You ok?"</p><p>"Yeah, just tired," Richard said, rubbing his eyes with his hand.</p><p>"Wait, did you just go all shy on me? What happened to your bold confidence?" Paul teased.</p><p>Richards groaned and peeked at Paul from between his fingers. "Oh shut up, Landers," he muttered, still breathing heavily.</p><p>Paul just shook his head and grinned. Normally he would have teased Richard properly to lighten up the mood, brought up the humping and the obvious dark, wet spot that was visible on his shorts. But something had changed, planets had migrated into new orbits, and everything was weird, but a good weird.</p><p>"If you want my honest opinion, you did well, a stellar performance. So no need to be shy about it," he finally said, still not getting a proper response. "Good night, I guess, and thanks." Paul turned on his heels and headed for the door.</p><p>"Wait!" Richard suddenly sat up, stopping his friend in the doorway. "Do you still want that melatonin?"</p><p>Paul just smiled, shook his head in rejection as he picked up his shirt from the floor. "Nah, I'm fine, and spent, thanks. But..."</p><p>“But what?” Richard asked.</p><p>He didn’t get a response. Instead, Paul quickly moved over to the bed and gave him a big, loud kiss on the forehead.</p><p>“Just wanted to kiss you goodnight.” Paul smiled, yawned, and left the room while a confused Richard sat on his bed, wondering what had just happened.</p><p>--</p><p>The annoying jingle of an alarm intruded Paul's deep sleep at 8.30 am. He blindly reached for his phone on the nightstand, swiping and tapping the screen until the shrieking noise disappeared. Even though he tried to force himself to get up and to join others for breakfast downstairs, his body was still boneless, drained, and demanding more sleep.</p><p>Fuck breakfast, Paul thought. He reached for his phone. With sleeping fingers he started clumsily typing into their private group chat that Till had, true to his style, named 'Ich will ficken'. Everyone else had complained and said they would change the name. No-one had gotten around to doing it.</p><p>
  <em>'Skipping breakfast. See you at 10.'</em>
</p><p>He then set a new alarm at 9.40 am and pulled the blanket over his head, dozing off almost immediately.</p><p>After what felt like just a couple of minutes, the alarm went off again and Paul had to force himself to leave the soft, warm cocoon of his bed. After a quick shower and getting dressed, he picked up his phone and headed out into the hallway leading towards the studio downstairs. He swiped open his phone to see a few new messages.</p><p><em>'Me too.'</em> was Richard's reply to his earlier message about skipping breakfast, followed by <em>'ok'</em> and a thumbs up emoji from Oliver and Schneider. There was also a new message from Richard.</p><p>
  <em>'Hi. I'm sorry if I crossed a line last night. It was supposed to be about your relief, not my pleasure. I got carried away. Sorry for being too much of a coward to apologise last night. R.'</em>
</p><p>Before Paul had time to react to what he had read, he rounded the corner to the studio kitchenette, almost crashing into a sleepy looking Richard. The other guitarist was leaning against the counter by the coffee maker, an empty coffee mug in his hands.</p><p>"Morning," Richard said quietly.</p><p>Paul felt so sorry for his friend feeling bad for no reason that he pulled him into a warm embrace.</p><p>"Hey, it's fine, everything's good, no need to be sorry for anything," Paul murmured assuringly. "It was quite hot, actually," he added and earned a chuckle and a tickle from Richard.</p><p>"Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?" It was Oliver, who immediately covered his eyes with his hand at the sight of the guitarists sharing an intimate looking moment.</p><p>Before Paul managed to retract from the hug, Flake and Schneider arrived in the kitchen with Till in tow.</p><p>"Oh, good morning, guitar husbands," Schneider quipped as he made a beeline behind Oliver at the coffee maker.</p><p>"Oh, you're both finally up," Till exclaimed. "Now that you're here, is there anything that the rest of us should be aware of?" He winked so hard that Paul thought the singer might have pulled a muscle in his face.</p><p>“Yes, I’m second in line for coffee, so you’d better not try to cut in,” Paul mumbled, discreetly trying to break free from Richard, but Richard had latched onto him and was not about to let go that easily.</p><p>With his arm wrapped around Paul’s shoulder, Richard let his free hand run through his sleep ruffled hair, cocked his head, and looked Till straight in the eye. “All you need to know is that I’m in the lead,” he grinned.</p><p>“Richard!” Paul hissed, clenching his jaw, trying a little less discreetly to pull away from the other guitarist.</p><p>“But you said it was hot!” Richard said, eyeing Paul’s increasingly reddening face in his peripheral vision.</p><p>Paul sighed. “Fine,” he muttered. “Richard took his turn last night, and it was good.”</p><p>“Hot!” Richard corrected him.</p><p>“Hot.” Paul sighed again.</p><p>“So compared to Till…?” Oliver wiggled his eyebrows.</p><p>Paul rolled his eyes. “How about you guys just calm down! I’ll rank you when everyone is done, okay?”</p><p>“Leave me out of this!” Schneider snapped.</p><p>“Okay, okay, when you’re all done I’ll rank whomever wants to be ranked! Now I want some coffee!” Paul growled.</p><p>-- </p><p>"But Paul, it was a five against one democratic decision," Till explained to him for the umpteenth time at the dinner table. "The song just doesn't work, it needs to be scrapped."</p><p>Everyone else was nodding quietly at Till's words, except Paul, who saw lots of potential in the unfinished piece and didn't want to admit defeat.</p><p>"Stupid fucking democracy," Paul glared at his bandmates and banged the table frustratedly with his splinted fist.</p><p>“Come on, Paul - you know we’ve all been there. Don’t be like the old me,” Richard said, trying to lighten up the mood.</p><p>“At least you were allowed to play your stuff before the decision was made! If you’d been able to play the way I explained, then I know it would make sense!” Paul snapped, and Richard looked down, slightly hurt by the comment.</p><p>Oliver put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “We did get a good enough impression of the song from how Richard played it. It just wasn’t Rammstein.”</p><p>Paul brushed Oliver’s hand away, brusquely, setting his angry blue eyes straight at the bassist. “But we could have made it Rammstein! Your stupid bass riff songs weren’t Rammstein either until we made them Rammstein!”</p><p>A small gasp slipped across Schneider’s lips. Richard dropped his fork onto his plate. Flake had his mouth half open, mid-chew, and Till’s head had perked up. The room fell eerily silent. Everyone was staring anxiously at Oliver - who had a surprised, but amused look on his face.</p><p>“Umm, Paul, you know, uhh, we made Seemann more than 25 years ago - and even though it started as a joke, we all liked it, even you,” Richard said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.</p><p>“That’s not the point,” Paul grunted, and shoved the rest of the food on his plate into his mouth, chewing angrily.</p><p>What Paul hadn’t noticed was the silent exchange of looks that had been going on between the other five for a while. From Richard to Till, then to Oliver, back to Richard. From Schneider to Flake and Till. And now that everyone’s eyes were on Oliver, he nodded, pushed his chair back, and stood up.</p><p>"Paul." Oliver's voice wasn't loud or menacing, but for someone usually being the observant one and not very vocal, his serious tone always demanded attention. "Can I have a chat with you?"</p><p>Oliver saw Paul's eyes widen a bit.</p><p>"Get up, let's go," Oliver said in a firm tone. "Before you go too far."</p><p>Paul could feel all eyes on him, not so much judging or annoyed anymore, but expectant and even with slightly sly grins. He huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically, but Oliver just towered next to him, not budging the slightest.</p><p>"C'mon. Fine, I'll just shut up. The dessert will be here soon."</p><p>"I don't think you shutting up is enough if your eyes are bulging out like that. And that vein on your forehead is about to pop anytime now," Till remarked, sipping his wine.</p><p>"Paul, let's go." Oliver's voice was no longer asking, but commanding.</p><p>Paul jumped up, clattering the plates and glasses, and walked past Oliver towards the stairs. "Fine! Just stop staring at me."</p><p>They walked upstairs without saying a word, Paul stomping in front and Oliver following him.</p><p>"Ok," Oliver began as he closed his bedroom door. "What was that all about?"</p><p>Paul scratched his foot against the floorboards, a little uncomfortable. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “It’s just unfair.”</p><p>“Unfair?” Oliver raised his eyebrows, and Paul was unable to look him in the eye.</p><p>“I really like that song, okay? And I don’t think you guys can hear what the song could be if I could just play it the way I want!” the guitarist pouted.</p><p>Oliver shook his head and smiled. “You don’t think the five of us can hear what the song is like just because you aren’t playing?”</p><p>Paul frowned. Oliver’s words made sense, but he didn’t like it. “Maybe,” he finally admitted. “Ok, probably, I guess. But I…”</p><p>Oliver stepped closer and shushed Paul with a simple gesture of bringing his forefinger up to Paul's lips.</p><p>"I have two options for you. We can stay here, discuss your behavior, google some self help techniques for anger management, and if you manage to calm down, I can help you with your relaxation afterwards, since I guess it’s my turn."</p><p>Paul looked unimpressed at the first option, scrunching his nose. "And the second option?"</p><p>"We join the others for dessert and whatever takes place after it, you apologise and start behaving…"</p><p>"The second one," Paul exclaimed. He headed for the door, but was stopped by Oliver's long arms.</p><p>"Not so fast. The second one comes with a condition."</p><p>"Anything's fine."</p><p>Oliver smirked at the reply, disappeared for a minute, and returned to Paul with a little black plastic bag in hand. Paul's forehead furrowed in suspicion.</p><p>"You agree to wear this until I let you take it out." Oliver pulled a simple white box from the bag.</p><p>Eyes blown wide, Paul stared at the box. "Fuck. I should have known, you and your kinky shit."</p><p>Oliver shrugged and smiled smugly behind his thick beard. "Accept the challenge?"</p><p>Known for his stubborn and daring mind, Paul shrugged. "Sure. How bad can it be?"</p><p>"Bad? It's all about how good it will be." Oliver winked and handed the box over.</p><p>-- </p><p>A few minutes later Paul waddled down the stairs again along with Oliver. He was warm, full, and oddly turned on as he could feel the foreign object rub at his sensitive parts with every step. He took a deep breath to calm his jittery nerves and pushed open the door to the dining room.</p><p>"Wait - you're back already?" Flake was the first to see them enter the room. "That was very fast, not much more than five minutes." He looked at his wrist watch with a slightly confused look.</p><p>"Like I said, just a little chat," Oliver reminded the others as he sat down in his usual spot at the end of the table, where there was enough room for his legs. Everyone looked a bit quizzical since they had not expected the two men to return so soon, but Oliver was unfazed. "Paul. Wanna share what we agreed on?"</p><p>Paul was concentrating on sitting down without making weird facial expressions, and Oliver's sudden words made him almost get a whiplash. Eyes wide open, he stared at the bassist with a puzzled expression, trying to coax for clearer instructions without giving anything away.</p><p>"Yes, you were supposed to do something when we came back down?" Oliver helped, unlocking his phone in his lap, casually tapping the screen a few times before returning his eyes on Paul's.</p><p>Paul's eyes widened even more as the low paced buzzing began inside him. Dick half hard in his pants, thousands of tiny nerve endings up his ass were screaming for more, which made his head foggy and eyes likely dilated, too.</p><p>"Oh. Yes," he managed, relieved to realise what Oliver was really after. He looked down at his fingers briefly while he searched for words. "Yeah, uhh, sorry."</p><p>"Why are you sorry?" Oliver asked him.</p><p>The buzzing intensified a notch, and the guitarist had to use all his willpower and then some in order to be able to form a coherent sentence.</p><p>"Sorry for being a pissy fucking shithead," Paul half shouted and slumped in his chair when the buzzing finally was cut off.</p><p>"Well, that was a bit unexpected, but thank you," Schneider snorted.</p><p>"After all these years, a bit overdue," Till remarked.</p><p>One half of the table was staring at him like he'd suddenly grown another head, and the other half cackling at the total hilarity of the situation. Paul tried to calm down his nerves, then glared at smug looking Oliver, praying for an interruption which thankfully appeared in the form of orange-rosemary Crème Brûlée.</p><p>"Olli, you should have regular chats with him if they're this effective," Richard laughed, earning a death glare from Paul who put all his concentration into enjoying his dessert.</p><p>Half an hour later they were still relaxing at the table, drinking some more wine and chatting. After the long, isolated spring, Paul enjoyed having all his boys around him. They had gotten together every now and then after the last tour leg had ended, but it wasn't the same back in Berlin. Someone was always missing or in a hurry to leave. Now they were back in their little bubble of just the six of them.</p><p>The wine had made him relaxed and serene. Paul lounged in his chair, listening to Richard, Schneider, and Flake reminiscing over their early years together. He opted to just listen to the conversation, laughing at the three storytellers cackling and feeding off each other. The wine made his cheeks warm and the tantalising buzzing Oliver kept rationing straight to his prostate made him pliant, scatterbrained, and increasingly turned on. The effect was better than most drugs he had ever tried, and he smiled at the idea of becoming addicted to Oliver's little toy.</p><p>"Earth to Paul, are you still with us?" Till called, waving his hand at Paul, trying to get his attention.</p><p>Paul snapped back from his thoughts and stared at Till with blown pupils, trying to understand what was just said.</p><p>"You ok?" Till addressed him again with a slightly worried look.</p><p>Paul rubbed his face and sat up in his chair, eyes looking for Oliver. "Yeah, I think I need a bit of fresh air," he said and got up.</p><p>"Is it ok if I join you?" Oliver asked nonchalantly, already pushing his chair back.</p><p>"Sure," Paul replied, not looking back as he hastily exited into the garden.</p><p>By the time Oliver rounded the corner at the end of the long studio building, he found Paul leaning his back against the cobbled stone wall, eyes squeezed shut, panting heavily.</p><p>"Just do something. Olli, please. Now," Paul whined, eyes still closed, slowly rocking on his legs, almost unable to stand still anymore.</p><p>Oliver watched his friend writhe in agonizing arousal, then swiped open his phone. "Right here?"</p><p>"Yeah. Need it now."</p><p>Oliver nodded and switched the buzzing on to a rather high speed with a pulsating rhythm straight away, making Paul's knees buck and jaw go slack.</p><p>"Is that good?" Oliver asked. He only got a hasty nod and heavy breathing in reply.</p><p>Paul kept on rocking on his feet, seeking support from the cool wall behind him, clenching his buttocks, abs, and thighs rhythmically to maximise the plug's contact with his sensitive prostate.</p><p>"Just use your hand already, you pervert," he finally groaned, opening his eyes to see Oliver standing just meters away.</p><p>Oliver shook his head. "I want you to come from the plug only. Prostate orgasms are very powerful and rewarding. Just sit down, relax, and think about something pleasurable," he said encouragingly.</p><p>Panting hard, Paul slid down onto the bench by the wall, shuddering as the plug sunk even deeper as he sat down. He tried to force his pent-up body to relax, huffing and groaning.</p><p>It took only seconds for the pressure to suddenly peak deep inside his pelvis. The pleasurable intense feeling like right before an orgasm hit him and made his thighs and stomach shudder violently, but this time the feeling didn't just explode and disappear, but kept ravaging and tearing apart his body, not subsiding until the buzzing stopped.</p><p>Paul felt boneless and out of his body as he slumped against the wall, out of breath and with his entire body trembling for minutes in aftershocks. He felt Oliver sit down next to him and a hand started to rub his shoulders.</p><p>"You win," were the first words Paul finally managed to form.</p><p>"Huh, so you agree it was good, then," Oliver laughed. "And I still had another thing I wanted to show you. We could just excuse ourselves from the dinner if you want to experiment more. I think the others are already suspecting something fishy going on. Your poker face wasn't that good."</p><p>"If my legs just could carry my body," Paul sighed, smiling at the idea. The thought of something more to come, combined with already feeling a bit cold from the late September evening chill, made Paul shiver.</p><p>"Let me help you," Oliver said and hoisted Paul up.</p><p>-- </p><p>The post orgasm bliss on Paul's face was way too obvious for the others to miss. And the way Oliver half carried him back inside and immediately excused the two of them with the most implausible "I'm taking Paul to bed" explanation, left no room for interpretation.</p><p>"I don't think I've ever seen him so blissed out," Flake remarked dryly. "And trust me, I've seen that boy have sex enough times for one lifetime."</p><p>"I knew something was going on." Paul could hear Till's low, rumbling laughter echo to the hallway as they climbed up the stairs together.</p><p>Paul opened the door to his room with shaky fingers and closed it after two of them.</p><p>“I don’t know what you had planned, but I really need to shower quickly,” Paul stated. He opened the velcro straps of his splints and pulled them off, emptied his pockets, and pulled off the grey sweater, throwing it onto his bed. “It feels like I have half a litre of semen down in my pants.”</p><p>“Yeah, that can happen. Well, not really half a litre, but lots.”</p><p>Paul peeled off his pants and boxers with a disgusted look on his face and kicked the dirty clothes into a pile by the wall to be dealt with later. Being raised in GDR and living in each other’s pockets for about half of their lifetime, nudity was really no issue to Paul.</p><p>“Do I really want to know how you know so much of these things, or how you got the idea in the first place?” He gave Oliver a suspicious look.</p><p>Oliver just smiled smugly back at him. “Do you want to take the plug out for your shower?”</p><p>“No, I’ve kinda grown into liking it already,” Paul said, grinning over his shoulder as he wobbled to the bathroom. “Just please keep your fingers off the app while I’m in here, I'm still feeling quite sensitive.”</p><p>Ten minutes later Paul stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, small pearls of water dripping down his shoulders and back. He was refreshed, not sticky anymore, and half hard again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done two rounds by himself. Paul made a mental note to make the gadget a regular part of his sex life.</p><p>Oliver was seated on the bed and looked up from his phone. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Aroused, again. I think I should pay more attention to your tech talk from now on, I could get more great ideas of what 2020 has to offer.”</p><p>Oliver laughed. “Well, that’s good to hear, but I was thinking more of how you’re coping with your hand situation?”</p><p>Paul sat down sideways on the bed, thinking about Oliver’s question. He leaned down to rub his hair once more with the corner of the towel, then reached for the splints and pulled them on, busying himself with adjusting the velcros to the right tightness.</p><p>“I wish I wasn’t such a stubborn hothead,” he sighed. “I’m really grateful that you guys are putting up with me when I’m like this.”</p><p>Oliver placed a hand gently on the guitarist’s shoulder. “We’ve known each other for how many years now? Trust me, you have been way worse than this, and we already put up with that. If we couldn't handle it, we would all have disappeared twenty-something years ago.”</p><p>Paul tried to look offended, but didn’t really manage to keep a straight face. He knew very well that he had been very difficult at times. Sometimes he wondered how he had been so lucky to end up in a band with five guys who were truly his friends, and who cared enough about each other to stay together even though tempers sometimes ran high.</p><p>“I wish we could have taken a break from the recording while my arms are healing,” he admitted. “We could just spend some time together, like in the old days. But of course I know we all have different plans, schedules, families - so it doesn’t really work that way anymore.”</p><p>Oliver listened to his words with a pensive look on his face. “I like us being together too. We don’t really live that far from each other. How about we just make a deal that we get together more often when we’re back in Berlin?”</p><p>Crow’s feet fanned out from Paul’s eyes. “I’d like that,” he smiled. He laid down on the bed, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, and then rolled over to his side, staring right at Oliver. “So what did you want to show me?”</p><p>“Eager?”</p><p>“More like curious,” Paul smirked, wrapping his arms around his knees and curling into a ball.</p><p>“I think I’ve created a monster,” Oliver said bemusedly, tapping his phone a few times. “Let’s try some music, shall we? Where are your headphones?"</p><p>Paul pointed towards the nightstand and Oliver reached for them.</p><p>"Put these on and lie on your back. I'll play you some music through the app and we'll see how you like it. How does that sound?"</p><p>"Interesting." Paul grinned as he settled on his back, adjusted his towel, and put on the headphones.</p><p>"Any preferences for music?"</p><p>"Nah, I trust you," Paul said, trying to keep a serious face. "Surprise me, blow my - mind."</p><p>"Yeah, I think I’ll leave the blowing of other things to Till,” Oliver said, sitting down cross-legged next to Paul. “Just close your eyes, and relax.”</p><p>Paul closed his eyes and muttered, "Do you have any other hidden talents that I should be aware of?"</p><p>Oliver laughed as he searched for a suitable song and pressed play.</p><p>Paul lay there relaxed, yet full of anticipation for what was about to come. The beginning of a down tempo ambient song with flutes, synthetiser, and a tribal-like female vocal was very calming. It sounded familiar, but Paul couldn't really put a name to it. Maybe Enigma? He let his mind drift with the music, trying to just feel what was happening to his body, not think about it.</p><p>Maybe fifteen seconds into the song a hypnotic drumbeat started, and Paul's full body jerked as the rhythmic vibrations following the beat of the song massaged him from the inside. As his head lolled slowly from side to side along with the music, all the sensations engulfed him, his mouth half open with barely audible throaty whines escaping from him. His body felt feather light, almost floating, but also incredibly heavy and grounded at the same time, senses heightened from the music and his closed eyes.</p><p>The buzzing intensified and deepened along with the beat. Sparks of electricity shot from Paul's prostate to his spine, thighs, and groin at an accelerating rate. Static tingles of pleasure slowly spread to fill his groin, and he was sure he'd found heaven. His detached mind wanted to stay in this state forever, but his aroused body was begging for harder stimulation.</p><p>As the song neared its end, Paul desperately needed something harder that would send him over the edge. “Next one, harder, please," he whined, eyes still closed to not break the moment.</p><p>Oliver scrolled down the list of songs, stopping to quickly assess them before putting one song in the queue just seconds before the first one ended.</p><p>
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</p><p>The heavy beats of the next song hit Paul like a freight train. As he gasped for air from the intensity, his entire body started spasming, arms searching frantically for something to hold onto. He was simultaneously excited, incredibly aroused, and a little terrified, like going on a thrilling roller coaster ride, knowing there was no turning back.</p><p>Oliver laid his hand on top of Paul’s, calming the guitarist down with tiny caresses to the back of his hand. The intro eased down to a quieter part. Paul panted heavily, preparing for the chorus to begin. Alternating between breathing and trying to swallow all the saliva his mouth was creating, he rode towards the chorus.</p><p>When the drums and shouts started the chorus, Paul’s body felt like it was being electrocuted by pleasure. Teasing tickles from the plug turned into hot sparks and small spams turned to full body tremors that grew longer and more frequent. Paul bit his lip, his mind blank, like an addict waiting for the kick.</p><p>The gap between the tremors grew shorter and shorter, finally pushing Paul over the edge, like roller coaster diving into a never ending fall with g-forces crushing him from inside. Tremors and shakes rocked his body with such an intense force that if Paul had shouted, he wouldn’t have noticed it himself. Time and space lost meaning as he rode the waves for what seemed to be an eternity.</p><p>Music changed to something calmer and quieter, and gradually as the spasms calmed down enough for Paul to feel Oliver’s fingers gently stroking his shoulders and forearms, grounding him. Then his headphones came off.</p><p>“Just breathe.” Oliver's voice sounded somehow tinny and distant to Paul. His nerves and muscles seemed to have malfunctioned and turned into jelly.</p><p>"I'm removing the plug now." Paul felt himself being maneuvered to his side, and then the plug and towel were gone. A blanket was wrapped tightly around him. Paul could hear the bathroom door open and faucet being turned on.</p><p>Slowly returning from the dreamlike state he'd been caught in, Paul arduously forced his eyelids to open. Oliver appeared, kneeling in front of him with an opened water bottle.</p><p>"Drink," he commanded, bringing the bottle to Paul's lips. "How are you feeling?"</p><p>Paul gulped some water and wiped his mouth with the splint-covered back of his hand.</p><p>"Mushy," he finally replied, grinning tiredly. "And I can't believe you chose Mein Teil."</p><p>Oliver laughed heartily and sat down on the floor by the bed, scratching his beard. "Did I ruin it for you?"</p><p>"In the best way," Paul laughed back. "Can I keep the toy?"</p><p>"Of course, I got it for you. Just remember, no operating heavy machinery while under influence. And - I don’t recommend using it on stage."</p><p>Paul’s mouth opened in surprise. “Olli!” he gasped.</p><p>Oliver shrugged. “Not like you noticed.”</p><p>Paul sent Oliver an incredibly judging look while his mind tried to figure out when this could have been. He considered asking, but decided against it - he felt too exhausted. Perhaps he could bring it up some other time and get help with extracting information from the bassist, who apparently had interesting secrets no one knew about.</p><p>After another drink from the bottle, Paul clumsily tried to place it on the bedside table. With a little smile, Oliver relieved him of the bottle. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked.</p><p>“Maybe you could…” Paul started, his voice quiet.</p><p>“Could what?”</p><p>Paul looked away. “Maybe you could just lie next to me for a little while?” he mumbled. "I miss cuddling.”</p><p>“Don’t we all,” Oliver hummed. Stretching his long limbs, he stood up, and with an elegant motion that should be impossible for such a tall person, he maneuvered himself across Paul, plopping down on the bed next to him before snuggling up close.</p><p>Paul felt a strong arm around his body, a feather-light kiss on his cheek, and the tickling of a beard against his skin. A long, satisfied sigh escaped his lips as he let his eyes fall shut.</p><p>-- </p><p>A rather annoying, persistent knocking infiltrated Paul's pleasant dreams. He tried to hang on to the wonderful state of unconsciousness, but the damn noise was unrelenting.</p><p>"Paul, wake up!"</p><p>Paul forced his eyes open, stretching his languid body thoroughly. He felt loose and well rested, muscles sleepy, mind calm and serene.</p><p>"Yeah, coming," he shouted as he sat up arduously and reached for his phone. It was 10.12 am, which meant they had overslept. He gently poked at Oliver, who had apparently fallen asleep and ended up spending the night, now curled on his side, still in deep sleep with his feet hanging off the edge. Paul slid out of bed, pulled on the first pair of pants he could find, and padded sluggishly to the door.</p><p>"Yeah?" Paul yawned as he opened the door, sleepily scratching his head and neck and staring with unfocused eyes at Till, Richard, Schneider, and Flake.</p><p>"Wakey wakey," Till singsang with an unimpressed face.</p><p>Schneider tried to peek from the narrow opening into Paul's room, as if he was terrified, yet secretly fascinated by seeing the possible crime scene. "Is our missing bassist with you?"</p><p>Instead of saying anything, Paul just pushed open the door, revealing a fully clothed Oliver still sound asleep. Leaving the door open, he then turned around and headed towards the bathroom. Once he had relieved himself, he spotted the plug by the sink where Oliver had left it to dry. Remembering the night before, he decided to hide it in the cabinet, just in case.</p><p>“C’mon Olli, spill the beans,” Richard demanded, clearly having taken on the role as lead interrogator. He poked Oliver’s shoulder a few times. The bassist looked almost like he was meditating. He had his eyes half shut and a serene expression, lounging sleepily against the pile of decorative pillows with a tiny smile on his lips that they all knew would annoy the hell out of Richard. When Paul exited the bathroom after having washed his teeth and face, everyone turned to him only to get greeted by a dopey smile.</p><p>“I know something happened at dinner last night, you were both acting weird. You’re not on some weird pills - right? Oliver should be disqualified if he used doping.”</p><p>“Relax, Reesh.” Paul grinned as he pulled on a t-shirt and a sweater that was also old and ratty, but soft and lovely. “I’m too old for shit like that. Besides, is being happy and relaxed a crime these days?”</p><p>“You’re spooky. Can I have the familiar bitchy Paul back?"</p><p>Schneider and Till snorted at Richard's words.</p><p>“Ha, and I thought me being chill and relaxed was the goal of this…” Paul waved his arms in the air with a smile so wide that the crow’s feet popped out, “...arrangement. And Olli delivered.”</p><p>“You do look exceptionally relaxed,” Schneider remarked in awe. Paul saw Flake and Till nod approvingly at the words. “By the way, do you think you could try some guitar today, or is it too early?”</p><p>“I’d love to give it a go, just a little as I still need to be careful. And thanks for the wake up call." Paul followed Till and Flake towards the door. "Olli - shall we get some coffee first? I really want these last few days before we return to Berlin to be good and productive. I have a list of things I'd love to try out and discuss."</p><p>-- </p><p>(Berlin, two weeks later)</p><p>"Paul!" Arielle's voice was stern and hinting that she was being very serious.</p><p>"What now?"</p><p>"Get yourself ready to leave in ten minutes. Flake's picking you up."</p><p>Confused at the unexpected turn of events, Paul put down the laptop that he'd been cursing at for the best part of the afternoon. He walked to the kitchen, where he found Arielle waist deep in a closet.</p><p>"What did you say?"</p><p>Arielle backed out and stood up with a cake tin in her hands, red hair in a messy bun and dressed in a Rammstein chef's apron.</p><p>"Flake's picking you up, get ready."</p><p>"But I'm quite sure we had nothing planned - and why are you the one to tell me this? He does have my phone number, too."</p><p>"When you got home from France, Flake called me. He said that if you seemed too stressed out or annoyed, I should give him a call and he'd deal with it for me." Arielle shrugged, seemingly a bit lost on the whole thing. "He talked about some agreement and taking his turn or something, and you have just bitched enough for one day."</p><p>Paul froze. He watched her busy herself opening cabinets and drawers, searching for utensils and ingredients. Oh fuck, if she just knew. "There's something wrong with the Internet connection on my laptop, and I can't figure it out."</p><p>"See, a great time to leave the house."</p><p>Even though honesty had always been an important principle in their relationship, Arielle had stated quite clearly that she really didn't want to know all the details of what happened within the band. Apparently, sometimes less is more and ignorance is bliss.</p><p>"I'll get ready, then." Paul decided not to try to argue or explain. He knew well enough that at times like these, it was easier to just do as she suggested.</p><p>Twelve minutes later Flake stopped his red and white Volkswagen Bulli in front of Paul's house and pushed the creaky passenger door open. Paul stood on the sidewalk with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets and eyed his bandmate warily.</p><p>"I don't know what you've planned, but I now have two functioning arms and I had sex last night."</p><p>"Good afternoon, Paul. Good for you. And I thought you knew me better after all these years. Shame on you, get in the car."</p><p>Paul smiled as he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled in. Flake accelerated the minibus along the street and inserted a worn out cassette in the player. The first sounds of Feeling B's Artig started blasting from the loudspeakers, sounding tinny and weird over the rattling of the old car.</p><p>"Interesting choice of music."</p><p>Flake smiled and glanced at Paul once he had gotten through a busy intersection.</p><p>"Good memories. This album makes me remember how far we've come and how much our music has evolved. And how much we've changed, too."</p><p>Flake was right. Paul's head nodded and fingers tapped to the rhythm as he listened to the punky beats. And even though the streets were the same that they used to drive along back in the Feeling B days, nothing was the same. The grey and dull East Berlin neighbourhoods had also come far, and the scenery was like from another world. They drove in silence, just enjoying the nostalgic feeling, only pointing out places that they remembered from their lives as East Germans every now and then.</p><p>"Oh, haven't been here in ages," Paul said as they drove along the narrow road circling lake Orankesee. Flake parked the car on a tiny, unofficial gravel parking space that overlooked the deserted lake.</p><p>"I sometimes come here just to sit and relax," Flake smiled as he put on his hat and got out from the vehicle. He rounded the car and beckoned for Paul to join him outside.</p><p>Paul zipped up his jacket and stepped out to find Flake busy opening the side door, spreading a blanket for them to sit on in the doorway, and lifting out a basket full of snacks. The October afternoon air wasn't too cold, and the sun was trying to break through the low hanging clouds.</p><p>"Where have you found these?" Paul exclaimed giddily, as he saw all the old eastern style cookie, candy, and salty snack packages that he hadn't seen in decades.</p><p>"I have my sources. Sit down," Flake gestured as he opened the bright orange thermos bottle, from the 80's as well. "Coffee? And don't worry, my ostalgia doesn't cover coffee, so this is the good, modern stuff."</p><p>Paul sat down. He accepted the mug and helped himself to a gingerbread cookie from the basket.</p><p>"Great surprise, Flake, thank you, prost!" Paul clinked his steaming mug against Flake's and sipped the coffee carefully. He hummed with pleasure as he munched on the cookie, feeling relaxed and happy again. "You really know how to handle me."</p><p>"I can't believe the others didn't think it any further, but chose the obvious route instead."</p><p>"Well, to be honest, their means of relaxation weren't bad either." Paul grinned at the memory from two weeks back. "Hey, should we inform the others that you've done your turn, too? I could just be vague and mysterious about everything. It would be entertaining to see how they react."</p><p>"What did you have in mind?" Flake inquired, smiling goofily at his friend.</p><p>Paul swiped open his phone, navigated to the chat, and sat staring at the lake for a while, thinking of what would evoke the best response. He then grinned, typed a short message, and showed it to Flake who laughed at it, knowing the instant turmoil it would cause.</p><p>
  <em>'Update. Flake won.'</em>
</p><p>--</p><p>The End</p>
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